This is Not Our Fate
by bullethead
Summary: The Ionian Nebula holds many secrets... and one of them is about to bring two tribes of humanity together for the first time. BSG2003/Mass Effect
1. Prologue

Prologue

**March 12, 2184**

It had only been six months after Sovereign had attempted to bring the Reapers into the galaxy. Six months of interviews, award ceremonies, funerals, and debriefings. Six months of doubts.

Commander John Shepard, Systems Alliance soldier and the first human Spectre, looked at hustle and bustle of the wards from the balcony of his apartment. He liked the view-there weren't any reminders of the battle with Sovereign and Saren around. The sight of Saren's flesh burning off haunted his dreams every night. Not even the memories of the Skyllian Blitz were that bad-and he had been practically neck deep in blood and guts at the end.

Shepard sighed, entered the sparsely decorated apartment, got breakfast, and listened to the news-which included a brief mention of some progress in reverse engineering technology gleaned from the remains of the Reaper. In the future, lives would be saved by the discoveries gleaned from Sovereign's remains.

Shepard knew intellectually he had made the right choices up to and during the battle. Calling in the Fifth Fleet to save the Council-an action that earned humanity a seat on the Council-had resulted in the deaths of hundreds of human servicemen and women.

He still hated himself for doing it.

Shepard shoved those thoughts out of his head as he put his uniform on before heading out the door. As he walked down the streets of the ward, he ignored the constant glances of the people around him and walked briskly to the nearest Citadel mass transit car. After settling into the car and setting Citadel Tower as the destination, Shepard leaned back and thought _I should consider staying on the Normandy while we're here._

_Has six months of shore leave already gone by? The crew should be arriving soon for the shake down cruise._ After the battle with Sovereign, some of Normandy's builders had arrived to inspect the ship and install some upgrades that might be used on _Normandy_'s sister ship _Marathon_; after _Normandy_'s impressive performance during the Battle of the Citadel, there had been no doubt that there would more like her, especially when the Council was subsidizing construction of at least nineteen more.

He wondered what the Council wanted with him...

There were many things that the Council didn't want the common person to know. For example, the fact that the Council wanted to send a fleet into the Terminus Systems to secure Ilos. The mere threat of the rouge states in the area uniting was enough to ensure that word of the project would never travel through official means, which could allow a team of Salarian hackers to discover the plan. Secrecy and misdirection were the keys to success.

No mission to Ilos would be complete without Dr. Liara T'soi, the foremost expert in the Protheans (not taking account the fact that Shepard had for all intents and purposes the sum total of Prothean knowledge lodged in his brain). The fact that she had actually been planetside and knew a bit of the geography of the main survey site was also a factor in her selection. That was why she and dozen other people were stuck in a nondescript office near the Presidium, anxiously working out the incredibly complicated logistics for the venture.

"Dr. T'Soni?" Liara looked up from a data pad, containing a list of prospective personnel for the expedition's scientific contingent, to see one of the human workers standing in front of her. Liara struggled to remember the man's name (and failed) before responding with a plain, simple "Yes?"

"You've got a message from Commander Shepard," the man whispered. Liara felt a surge of gratitude for the man's discretion and thanked him. She quickly went into her private office-screened four times a day by C-Sec for bugs, a perk of having such an important job- and turned on her personal computer.

She immediately saw Shepard's message-one would've had to have been blind to miss the huge letters- and the implications in it. It read:

"Get to the _Normandy_ ASAP. Very important mission. I need you and your skills."

There are many things that a common person will rarely see. Some of them incredible, some of them mundane, but none as unexpected as a turian and a krogan sitting together in a nice lounge, eating lunch and talking. If a person randomly professed to seeing such a thing, they would immediately be branded a liar unless they had proof. Luckily for the other patrons in the lounge, they all had cameras on them to record what surely seemed like the prelude to Hell turning into an idyllic meadow.

The two individuals in question were Urdnot Wrex, krogan merc, and Garrus Vakarian, Spectre candidate. The topic for their pleasant conversation was railing kills, something so esoteric that none but the most experienced mercs and soldiers could comprehend it. In other words, they were bragging about kills they had made while hunting Saren. Which happened to number in the hundreds, giving them a lot to talk about.

"Like I was saying, I hit this geth in the chest with a burst of sledgehammer rounds and it flips over the rail behind it, flailing about and screeching as it fell." Garrus grinned (as much as a turian could, anyway) as Wrex chuckled, picturing the geth in his mind. A sudden beep from his pocket killed his amusement.

"Looks like play time's over. Sounds like Shepard wants us back ASAP," Wrex muttered to Garrus, who nodded and placed some credits on the table.

"Better not keep the Commander waiting," Garrus paused, then whispered to Wrex, "especially if it's something exciting."

If a krogan and turian sitting together without trying to kill each other was a precursor to Hell becoming Heaven, then a constantly grinning krogan was the precursor to laws of physics ceasing to apply and society devolving into an orgy of depravity until the end of time (and possibly beyond).

It was that scary.

Down in the _Normandy'_s mess, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was busy reading. Not reading such things as poetry and "romance novels", but articles on how the next model of Lancer rifle would be best thing since buttered toast. Which was pretty much the same thing weapons designers had been saying for several centuries (and failed to deliver on).

"So, Gunny, what are doing? Trying to burn your eyes out of your skull?" quipped Jeff "Joker" Moreau, who had become a celebrity thanks to his spectacular handling of the _Normandy_, which only exacerbated his seemingly arrogant attitude. Due to Vrolik syndrome, which made his leg bones extremely brittle, Joker rarely left the bridge... which made his sudden appearance in the mess all the more surprising-much to her displeasure.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were busy being a role model for everyone with Vrolik's Syndrome?" Williams' retort had no effect on Joker- it curved around him like light curves around something with a large gravitational field; Joker's ego was as powerful as Jupiter's gravity- and it was constantly growing.

"Just wanted to get some coffee... and let you know that the Commander is aboard. As soon the others get aboard, we'll be leaving dock." He grabbed a mug full of steaming hot coffee and tossed in liberal amounts of sugar and milk while Williams mused.

"Any word on where we're going?" Williams wondered aloud. Joker shrugged before adding in a low, conspiratorial tone, "All I know is that Pressly and Shepard had a quiet talk before he locked himself in the comm room."

"You think this will screw up the shake down?"

"Chief," Joker slowly got to his feet, "this ship will never have a normal shake down. Ever."

Lieutenant Commander Pressly, promoted for commanding _Normandy_ during the Battle of the Citadel, was not happy- in fact, he was incredibly irritated. First, he had to cancel liberty because of a surprise deployment. Then he had deal with some techs complain about not being able to disembark-Pressly figured that if something went wrong, having the techs on hand would be useful. Third, he had to plot a course to an area in a mass relay dead zone- a place without a corresponding primary relay or nearby secondary relays.

Still, he tried to be on his best behavior when they came aboard. "They" being three of the four aliens Commander Shepard had recruited during the hunt for Saren- Liara, Wrex, and Garrus. During that first cruise, Shepard had told Pressly to keep an open mind about them and Pressly, to his credit, had done so- he didn't exactly trust them, but he respected them and their contributions during the mission. In fact, he respected them far more than the alien Council members, who were still taking a beating in the galactic press for their near fatal inaction.

He quickly put them out of his mind and got to work; still, questions arose. The Reapers had said that they had created the mass relays so civilization would form along paths that they desired; why would the Reapers avoid the area? What was there that warranted the _Normandy_'s deployment?

What was waiting for them when they got there?

**T + 1hr, March 12, 2184**

Tali'Zorah Nar Rayya walked quickly up the flight of stairs to the bridge, idly wondering why it took the elevator so long to up one deck. As a quarian, Tali liked stairs for the same reason other quarians did: stairs were far less likely to break down compared to (possibly) three hundred year old elevators. Not to mention the health benefits of constantly using stairs throughout one's life. Or the fact that most elevators in Citadel space took forever to go up or down one floor.

She knew that she didn't have to be aboard. She had the data Shepard had recovered about the evolution of the geth, which was a gift that no captain in the Migrant Fleet could refuse. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that if she went back now, she would be denying herself opportunities that the Fleet rarely offered: adventure and a chance to make a difference.

Like most members of the _Normandy_'s crew, Tali was extremely curious about the ship's mission. Down in the engine room, there had been speculation about a dormant Reaper being found or a possible Prothean super weapon that had been left adrift. She suddenly realized that she was right at the door of the comm room, having walked up the stairs and into bridge without realizing it.

Tali chuckled to herself as she entered the comm room; it was a common saying among quarians that any quarian could walk through any ship blind- as long as they had a guide the first time. As she took a seat next to Garrus, she noticed Shepard fiddling with the holographic display, which began to display a galactic map. There was an icon where the Citadel was and several highlighted areas near the edge of the galaxy. The highlighted area between the Citadel and Earth flashed intermittently.

"Now that we're all here, it's time to explain what's going on," Shepard began. "The Council is sending us into a mass relay dead zone, as if Pressley's grousing hasn't told you that already." Everybody chuckled at that.

"We're the first ship to enter the region, but practically everyone has sent probes in, trying to find mass relays and coming up with nothing. And those are the ones that we've received signals from; most just disappear without a trace."

"So why are we going in?" asked Wrex, who was obviously bored out of his mind.

"Four months ago, a salarian probe picked up a signal from a nebula in the area. One that was apparently created by some sort of intelligence." Shepard tapped part of the display's control panel and at once, the garbled sound of sound of string and other instruments playing a ethereal tune filled the room. After about three minutes, the music ended and a sudden silence filled the room, broken only by Wrex, snorting in disgust.

"Well, that was... underwhelming," opined Garrus.

"It would be, if it hadn't been playing constantly and increasing in volume since the probe first picked it up and until the probe died two weeks ago," replied Shepard. "The Council decided that this could potentially signify a new threat to the galaxy, separate from the Reapers, or a potential new ally. Or some sort of Prothean artifact; there are too many possibilities to list. That's why the _Normandy_'s was selected this mission; her stealth and drive systems were deemed necessary for the mission's success. "

"But what about us? I doubt you're bringing us along for sentimental reasons," Tali commented. Shepard cracked a smile while the others chuckled.

"They were going to give me a bunch of nameless grunts as backup, but I convinced them that you guys were worth a thousand grunts. And the fact is, I don't want a repeat of the Haliat fiasco." Shepard grimaced as he remembered being trapped inside an abandoned mine with a nuke; it had been planted by the mastermind of the Skyllian Blitz in the hopes of killing Shepard and restoring Haliat's prestige among the pirates and criminals of the Attican Traverse. "Having a second team gives us more flexibility in dealing with whatever we might face on this mission. Not to mention all that running around, trying to find information or do something."

"Any idea on who's going to be on what team, sir?" asked Williams. Shepard shrugged and said, "Nothing concrete besides each team will have a tech, a biotic, and a soldier. We've got three weeks to work out the details. Dismissed."

**April 2, 2184**

Garrus groaned as he pulled himself out of his sleeper pod, grimacing as his feet hit the cold gantry between the two rows of pods. He trudged off towards the head, mind not totally reintegrated with reality. He performed the normal morning ritual of using the toilet, brushing his teeth, and washing his face, the same as most intelligent organic lifeforms, before grabbing a bite to eat from the mess. Garrus slowly walked on to the bridge, chewing on a dextro-amino protein bar, looking for Shepard or Pressley; it was very annoying to learn something happened in your sleep way after it happened.

As Garrus made his way to the very front of the bridge, where Joker usually resided, he suddenly realized that the ship was "rigged for silent running", as the humans said. That realization triggered a memory of Shepard explaining that the _Normandy_ would activate its stealth systems on final approach to the target, just to be safe. He could hear snippets of conversation between Shepard, Joker, and Pressley as he approached; Shepard glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Garrus to come closer.

"Nice timing. We've stumbled upon four unknown ships which appear to be carriers," Shepard muttered to Garrus. "They don't seem to have kinetic barriers, but they've got lots of what appear to be guns and fighters."

"How many fighters on each?" inquired Garrus, as he slipped into the seat next to Joker's. On the screen in front of him, Garrus could see that the top and bottom sections of the hull resembled giant Y's, with one stem facing "forward" and the other "back."

"Nearly eight hundred," Pressley grimly replied as he checked some readouts. "The good news is that even without our stealth systems online, they'd never find us; they're using radar for God's sake."

"Well, lets not forget the fact that the things are fucking huge too," quipped Joker. "And there's four of them, not just one huge behemoth, and we don't have a fleet with us."

"Don't be so cynical," Garrus replied. "Maybe we won't have to fight."

"Commander," Pressley interpolated, "several dozen ships have just appeared out of no where- two of them appear to be dreadnoughts. I'm picking up some transmissions regarding power loss from all the new arrivals."

"How do you know that?" asked Garrus. Pressley smoothly replied with, "Because they're speaking on non-secure radio frequencies."

"Pressley, that still wouldn't let you understand what their saying," Shepard considered the conundrum for a second. "Wait... that means we've already encountered their language."

"Yes sir. The computer says that the language in the transmissions is a synthesis of various versions of Greek." Pressley's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Greek? How is that possible?"

"Obviously, aliens abducted Greeks and dumped them in the ass-end of nowhere." Everyone just glared at Joker before focusing on the situation at hand. "It was just an idea," he lamely protested.

"I have a bad feeling about this. Keep an eye on the carriers. Let me know..." Shepard's voice faded as he saw the carriers launch all of their fighters on the lasar readout. He quickly recovered and turned to Pressley. "Sound general quarters. We're going in."

Joker smirked at Garrus and said, "You were saying?"


	2. Chapter 1

I don't own Battlestar Galactica or Mass Effect, but if I did, I'd be rich and I probably wouldn't have blown up the _Pegasus_...

Chapter 1- Heeding the Call

Adaptability was the trademark of humanity throughout the galaxy. No matter what the odds, humans had an annoying (from the enemies point of view) tendency to survive. For the Cylons, the biggest hurdle in their plan to contain or eliminate the Colonial remnants was the fact that the humans could manipulate situations in their favor, and considering that the Cylons were far worse at it, it was a significant irritation for the Cylons. The only certainty was that once they overran New Caprica, the few escapees would attempt to rescue their brethren. It was human nature, after all...

**Day 133 of the Cylon Occupation of New Caprica**

_Galactica_'s Situation Room was a rarely used area, utilized for planning and executing large scale operations that the Colonials had rarely engaged in after the destruction of the Colonies. Now, the room was full of people, all focused on one goal: the rescue of the people trapped on New Caprica. Both Adamas were present, staring at the huge map table that dominated the room. On top of the table were carefully carved wooden battlestars, basestars, Vipers, and Raiders.

"We know that at most, the Cylons have five basestars in orbit at any one time," said Lee Adama, positioning the basestar pieces around the image of the planet on the table. "and they never have less than two in orbit."

"We can handle two," the elder Adama said with confidence. Lee shook his head at that.

"There's always a chance that some of the basestars might jump into orbit later. And with our reduced crews, we won't be able to handle the pounding."

"What do you have in mind?"

**Day 138 of the Cylon Occupation**

Out of the dark nebula emerged grim two leviathans, accompanied by numerous Vipers and Raptors, bearing down on New Caprica. As the planet came into sight, the two basestars stood out in stark contrast to the planet below them. The Vipers and Raptors accelerated, placing themselves ahead of the battlestars, as a series of decoy drones, called swallows, hurled themselves toward the basestars. Legions of Raiders chased after the Vipers and Raptors, ignoring the behemoths lurking in the clouds. _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ disappeared in brilliant flashes of light as space warped around them.

And in a flash, _Pegasus_ rematerialized between the two basestars, guns silently pounding out high explosive rounds. With their lack of heavy armor, the basestars were torn apart by the onslaught, turning into bright balls of fire that quickly died in the vacuum of space. The few missiles that they launched curved around the battlestar's hull and slammed into the other basestar, contributing to the conflagration that marked the graves of two Cylon basestars. The Beast slowly eased itself into orbit, disgorging Vipers as she moved into position.

At the same time, _Galactica_ flashed into existence in New Caprica's atmosphere; this being a naturally untenable position for a battlestar, it promptly plummeted towards the ground. This was intentional; as all great military leaders know, the element of surprise is critical in determining the success or failure of a mission, and nothing is as surprising as a battlestar appearing in your atmosphere, launching its Vipers. As _Galactica_ jumped out, Cylon guard towers were being picked off by Viper missile strikes, allowing hordes of Colonials to board the ships they had shunned in favor of New Caprica.

As the Cylons watched their plans fall apart, they placed their hopes on two reserve basestars hidden in the nebula, ready to jump into the fray upon their signal. And yet they never arrived, their failure to arrive baffling the Cylons, who were depending on the basestars to beat back the Colonial forces assaulting their position. Faced with inevitable defeat, they began to flee, heading into deep space and the safety of their fleet. Attacking the Colonial forces at New Caprica was dismissed out of hand, as was attacking the civilian ships that had escaped the occupation; the former because it was a waste of resources, and the latter because they didn't know where the Fleet was.

As _Galactica_'s Vipers ripped apart the few Raiders that had been launched from New Caprica's space port, the civilian ships rose into the air and jumped to a predetermined rendezvous point. A terrible silence swept over what remained of the colony after Cononial One jumped away, disturbed only by the sound of Vipers and some Raptors, sent to retrieve the resistance fighters, heading to orbit. The few remaining Cylons also abandoned the colony; once they rejoined their brethren, they were informed of the new plan: find Earth and make it the new home of the Cylon race. The two factions regrouped and began a race through the heavens, crossing paths as their destinies became entwined, leading up to a penultimate meeting at the crossroads of fate, one that would change everything...

**April 2, 2184**

As the Fleet drifted through space on their way to the Ionian Nebula, practically everyone was riveted to the trial of Gaius Baltar, hoping that he would be found guilty. The uproar that occurred when Baltar was acquitted merely amused Major Anton Neras as he listened to the wireless broadcast of the trial in his quarters. Ever since becoming XO of the _Pegasus_ after the death of Kendra Shaw, he had become even more cynical, quite an achievement considering the fact he already was an eccentric cynic to begin with. In fact, he privately theorized that the gods were out to get the Colonials, which would explain a lot of things, like the fact that Baltar just would not die, no matter what anyone did.

His thoughts drifted back to Baltar; he chuckled when he remembered placing a heavy toolkit on Baltar's crotch after capturing him on the Algae planet, just so the man could never breed. It didn't seem like much, but for the hardened cynic, it proved that there was still a bit of justice left in the universe. The same could not be said for the majority of the Colonial population, since they felt cheated of their duly deserved revenge against Baltar.

_What did they expect? With no real evidence, this case boiled down to character and you can't use that in a legal proceeding. Of course, someone might try to kill him later_, he thought while looking at himself in the mirror, contemplating his three day old stubble as he combed his hair. His bloodshot eyes stared back at him, seemingly devoid of the light that many fiction writers thought indicative of life, before he walked off, in search of his uniform jacket.

_Also, it seems like Admiral and Commander Adama haven't considered the fact that the Cylons might be waiting for us in the nebula. Instead of sending a Raptor to check out the area, they're jumping in blind. _The major scowled as he walked out of his quarters. 'If they want to frak around with the fate of humanity, I say let them. I don't get paid enough to deal with this shit.'

As he entered the CIC, he noted with pleasure that the doors' glass had been replaced with nondescript gray metal sheets. _Who would put extremely fragile glass in the doors for the CIC? Who would neglect to give the ship any dorsal battery emplacements? The frakers who designed this ship, that's who! At least they got nuked into oblivion..._ After relieving the Officer of the Deck, Neras looked around and asked, "Lt. Hoshi, has Commander Adama come aboard yet?"

"No, sir. He'll transfer over after we jump into the nebula." Neras scowled as he stared at the DRADIS console above the central table. The soothing "whir" of the DRADIS display calmed him, stopping a fit of murderous rage in its tracks. He was irked by the slip in his emotional control, something he had carefully honed through years of effort to deal with a lot of the problems of his life. And it had worked pretty well, partly because of the personality disorder Neras suspected he had, and partly because he used it to channel all of his rage and pain into a determination to spite the gods and/or fate, depending on which one seemed more likely to frak him and humanity at any given time.

"Fantastic," Neras said, settling in for a long, uneventful watch. The next twenty minutes went smoothly, until the jump into the Ionian Nebula. For five seconds, everything seemed normal, right before the power failed on every ship in the Fleet. As personnel in _Pegasus_'s CIC milled about, trying to figure out what happened, Neras laughed as the gods once again fraked over the Colonials. It was comforting in a twisted sort of way to know that somethings never changed, no matter where you went in the universe. As everyone in the CIC stared at him, he quickly regained his composure, turning himself into a well tuned killing machine. He coldly stared at the occupants of the CIC and said, "Action stations."

*****

**Five minutes earlier.**

"Don't worry sir, I'll get you to _Pegasus_ ASAP," said Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson to her passenger, Lee Adama, who acknowledged Racetrack's comment with a grunt. He was eager to get away from the Baltar related madness on the ship, which had been partially been dumped on him when President Roslin asked him to help with preparations for the trial and had piqued his curiosity.

_After all, how many legal cases were likely to pop up in this rag tag fleet that we all live in?_ he thought. _Then again, I might have enjoyed it from an intellectual perspective if Romo Lampkin hadn't manipulated me into testifying._ Lee had given an incredible monologue about how the trial was about dumping the people's guilt onto Baltar, which influenced the judges to acquit Baltar, just as Lampkin had planned. He had to give Romo some credit for that; the man's intellect was probably the only good thing about him.

Weary from the day's events, Lee closed his eyes, letting all his problems slowly drift away as the Raptor prepared to launch. The sound of people running around on the hangar deck flooded the Raptor's cabin through the opened hatch; Lee didn't mind it all, as he found it strangely soothing. All of a sudden, he heard Racetrack curse and opened his eyes as the tractor pulling the Raptor into launch position suddenly stopped. He found himself looking out at a dark hangar bay and blank electronics in the Raptor, before looking at Racetrack, who mirrored his confusion. "What the frak happened?"

"Gods know. Everything... everything just lost power." Racetrack unbuckled herself and headed out through the Raptor's open hatch, before turning to address Lee. "I think we're going to be waiting a while."

The junior Adama got out of his seat and wandered across the hangar deck, watching with detached indifference as pilots scrambled around in the dark. He glanced around, trying to find Chief Tyrol in the darkness, before heading off to one of his old haunts, the pilots' ready room, which was incredibly difficult due to the lack of anything more than emergency lighting. As he stepped inside the room, power returned, temporarily blinding Lee, as Gaeta's voice came over the intercom, announcing "Inbound Cylon fleet. I repeat. Action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. "

_What do I do?_ thought Lee, torn by his instinctive drive to jump in a cockpit or return to his ship. _Odds are the Cylons will get here before I can transfer over to Pegasus and every pilot is going to be needed..._ He turned and ran back to the hanger deck, swept up in the tide of people rushing about the ship, trying to get to their posts. Along the way, he was buffeted by the elbows and arms of people who were hastily throwing on their uniforms as they rushed down the corridors.

Lee jumped down a ladder onto the hanger deck, wincing in pain before he rushed to find a flight suit, running to one of the storage lockers on the deck. He quickly threw open the door and rummaged through contents, tearing through crates until he found an unused flight suit. He promptly stripped off his officer's uniform and pulled on the jock smock, before running to the closest Viper he could find, a Mk VII.

"Get this bird in the tube!" Lee shouted at some confused deck hands who were passing by his Viper. He sped through the preflight checklist as the deck crew shoved the Viper into a launch tube; a quick launch followed, along with a call from Helo which Lee quickly dealt with. He spotted Pegasus moving to the front of the Fleet, trying to get a firing solution on the Cylon basestars; a sudden beep on his DRADIS console alerted him to a new target. Apollo broke off from the main group of Vipers to pursue the bogey; _Probably a Raider trying to lob a few nukes at the Fleet,_ he thought.

Apollo grinned as his piloting instincts swiftly returned to him, almost as if he had never left the cockpit. He opened the throttles, gaining quickly on the bogey. He eased back the throttle and scanned the clouds of the nebula, trying to find his prey in the murk. A quick blur of white appeared in the corner of his eye, forcing him to look around once more; a quick glance at his DRADIS console showed that he was practically on top of his target. A sudden movement caught his attention and he looked up, finding himself staring at the undercarriage of a Viper Mk II. It pulled alongside his own Viper, nearly wingtip to wingtip, and as he turned, he caught a glimpse of the pilot through the canopy.

Unfortunately, that person happened to be quite dead, which logically meant that Apollo was hallucinating. "Hi Lee."

"K-Kara?" he said in disbelief._ It can't be her, _he thought, 'unless she's a Cylon...' He violently suppressed that notion, aware that everyone in Galactica's CIC who could hear the conversation, at least, was thinking the same thing.

"Don't freak out, it really is me." Kara "Starbuck" Thrace laughed in defiance of logic and the laws of physics. "It's going to be okay. I've been to Earth. I know where it is. And I'm going to take us there."

"That's great, but you can't be real. It's not physically possible."

"Why not?" _She doesn't know,_ Apollo thought with dismay, _and we really don't have time to discuss this now._

"You know what, we can discuss this back on _Galactica_. Right now we've got Cylons to kill." He paused, then started grinning. "You think you're up to it?"

"Frak yeah," Starbuck replied, flipping off her weapons safeties as she broke into a wide grin. "Don't lose me Apollo."

"Not a chance," he replied. Together, the two pilots headed off towards the Cylon onslaught, ready to fight for the survival of humanity. Little did they know that they were to be the harbingers of an apocalypse...


	3. Chapter 2

Don't own Battlestar Galactica or Mass Effect.

Chapter 2- Carnage in the Nebula

**Battlestar Galactica**

_Galactica_'s CIC was swept up in pandemonium as Colonel Saul Tigh quietly entered, followed by President Roslin's aide, Tory Foster. Both felt strangely detached from the world around them, as they tried to process the fact that they were both Cylons... had been Cylons for their entire lives. The two silently walked up to the Command and Control station in the middle of the CIC; the Old Man acknowledged his friend's presence with a glance and a small smile. The gesture reassured Tigh, but once he examined the overhead DRADIS console, dread overwhelmed the colonel.

_I guess we were fraking lucky that the toasters decided to attack, _Tigh grimly thought, _otherwise we would've been trying to figure out who we are instead of doing our jobs. _On the screen above, a group of Raiders, two hundred strong, bore down on _Galactica_, while two hundred more approached Pegasus. _The toasters aren't pulling any punches this time... they're planning to wear down our defenses so that their reserves can wipe us out._

"Raptors, lean back as missile pickets. Weapons free." Upon Helo's command, all the deployed units of Colonial air force activated their weapons and began firing at the incoming Cylon Raiders, right as the main batteries and point defense guns of the Galactica and Pegasus unleashed their firepower and decimated the oncoming Raiders. The Cylons, fueled by bloody determination, soldiered through the withering defensive flak fields and began engaging the first wave of Vipers launched from the battlestars.

"Take that, you frakin' toasters!" shouted Starbuck as she pumped 20mm autocannon rounds into a Raider; her words were transmitted through the wireless waves back to _Galactica_. In the CIC, Adama stared at the DRADIS console, paralyzed by the voice of the woman he had once considered as his daughter, barely hearing Roslin say "Admiral, it's a Cylon trick!" Tigh was shocked to hear Starbuck's voice, having missed the earlier conversation between her and Apollo, then felt rising fear as he realized what it could mean. _She has to be a Cylon... she could expose us all... unless she doesn't know..._

Tigh's frantic thought process was interrupted by Gaeta shouting, "The Vipers have stopped the main Cylon thrust, but the reserves have broken through, sir."

Adama considered the news for all of one second before turning to Tigh and saying, "I want everything that can fly up there immediately." When Tigh didn't respond, the admiral raised his voice, trying to get his friend's attention. "Saul. Saul! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing Bill," Tigh calmly replied. "Never felt better in my life." With that, Tigh pulled out his sidearm and calmly, almost mechanically, shot Bill Adama through the right eye. As Roslin stood there stunned and the Marines guarding the hatches surrounded Tigh, Saul Tigh felt a scream of anguish erupt from his mouth as he realized what he had done. The betrayal of his friend, ship, and crew tore at him, as did the knowledge that he had failed to live up to his own words. It was as if he was just a drop of water in a sea of madness...

"Colonel Tigh!" Suddenly, Adama's voice rang clearly through Tigh's head, snapping him out of the nightmare he had just witnessed. He blinked furiously, trying to clear the mental fog that clouded his perception. "I gave you a frakkin' order. Everybody that's ever held a stick, I want them up there now. Get 'em out! Put 'em up there! "

Tigh hesitantly reached for the PA phone, ignoring the questioning look on Tory's face. His hand shook slightly as he toggled the phone. "Attention, this is the XO..."

**[][][][][]**

"...All pilots, man your aircraft." Colonel Tigh's voice rang through the hangar deck as deck crew and pilots alike scrambled to get Vipers ready for launch. Chief Galen Tyrol added extra encouragement by shouting "Let's get that bird in the tube! Where the frak are those nuggets?! Drop your dicks and grab your sticks! You wanna fly or not?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrol could see someone cutting off Sam Anders' leg cast; two weeks after Starbuck had died, Anders had gotten drunk, climbed on top of a Viper, and fallen off, breaking his leg upon impact. Not long after that, Anders had become an officer and pilot, first flying Raptors, then Vipers; everybody figured that it was his way of coping with the loss of his wife. Unfortunately for Tyrol, Anders was limping over to him; Anders' concerned look told him everything.

"This is crazy," Anders whispered, glancing around, making sure no one else was watching. "What if I get up there and another switch flips in my head and turns me against my own? "

"Shut the frak up," Tyrol growled, rolling his eyes. Despite learning that he, along with Anders, Foster, and Tigh, was a Cylon, Tyrol didn't find that knowledge as disturbing as the others apparently did. Or the stress of being on the deck while hordes of Cylons were attacking was holding him together. Whatever the reason, Anders needed reassuring before he could get in the cockpit. "It's like the Colonel said, okay? Just think of that. Be the man you want to be. 'Til the day you die."

Anders looked unconvinced, but he ran off towards a waiting Viper anyway. Chief Tyrol turned back to the deck and began shouting at the deck hands, hoping Anders wouldn't get himself killed... or reveal their natures.

**SSV Normandy**

"Sir, six hundred fighters are engaging the dreadnoughts. The rest of the fighters are moving in as well," Pressely reported calmly. "The carrier's are loading their guns."

Shepard glanced at the various displays on the cockpit, taking in all everything about the situation. While not a genius at space tactics, he knew that fighters were extremely dependent on their carriers for refueling and rearming; by attacking them, a large number of fighters would break off to defend their crippled motherships. He frowned at the lasar display, trying to figure out a way to beat four carriers with one frigate that wouldn't end up destroying his ship.

"Pressley, get a firing solution for the main gun on two of those carriers ASAP. Try not to hit any of those other ships; when you're done, get Joker to maneuver us into position. Garrus, try to decrypt any military transmissions you pick up; I want to know who we're dealing with, besides "space Greeks,"" Shepard shot a withering glance at Joker, who busied himself with bringing the ship's bow into firing position.

"Firing solution ready," Pressley said quietly, "already uploaded to Joker's terminal."

"Standby main cannon. Joker, as soon as it fires, I want you to fly right in front of as many of those fighters as you can. After we get their attention, I want two nuclear missiles armed and their motors disabled, rigged for remote detonation. And do not activate the GUARDIAN system until I say so." Shepard paused for a second, then said the one word that would change history: "Fire."

In an instant, a chunk of metal hurled out of the Normandy's bow and slammed into the central core of a Cylon basestar off of its port side. Despite tearing through the ship's vital systems at 36 kilometers per second, the round still had enough kinetic energy to hit the basestar slightly ahead and to the port of the first basestar. Like on the first basestar, the slug obliterated the hybrid chamber and a significant amount of the ship's critical systems; both ships were sitting ducks, unable to defend themselves or jump out of the fray, along with removing half of the Cylons' missile arsenal. As the Normandy passed by the crippled giants, all of their air wings bore down on the area, driven by an instinctual need to protect their motherships; upon the death of the hybrid, without the destruction of the basestar itself, the Raiders were programmed to destroy everything that posed a threat to the ship until it was destroyed or salvaged by Cylon forces.

"Sir, we have sixteen hundred fighters inbound," Pressley said as he fought to keep the panic from his voice. He glanced at Shepard, whose sweat reflected the orange light of the displays around him. Pressley felt relieved that he wasn't the only unsettled by the numbers of enemy fighters bearing down on them. "Missiles are armed and the launch motors have been disabled, sir. The other carriers are moving into defensive positions around the crippled carriers; they are also firing what appear to be nuclear warheads from their guns."

"They're probably missiles," Garrus absentmindedly commented as he stared at the holographic display in front of him.

"You're cutting this a bit close," Joker quipped as he nervously glanced at his displays. Shepard snorted in derision as he looked over Garrus's shoulder.

"I want to be sure that they see us. We're invisible on radar and pretty hard to spot in this murk," Shepard said as he went to the starboard window, right as a shrill alarm rang out in the CIC.

"The fighters are opening fire with what appear to be old style guns," Pressley reported. "Kinetic barriers are holding."

"Joker, take us deeper into the nebula. Try not to leave our new friends too far behind. Pressley, be ready to ditch those missiles on my command." Shepard ignored the affirmations of his officers as he turned to face Garrus. "Any progress on decrypting those transmissions?"

"Well, it's been hit and miss," the turian admitted as his mandibles flared with irritation. "The software managed to break through the encryption on one side; I've got a lot of transmissions between fighter pilots and the dreadnoughts. The only thing that really stands out is a conversation between someone called "Starbuck" and someone called "Apollo"; I figure those are callsigns. Anyway, "Starbuck" says she's been to Earth; "Apollo" doesn't believe her."

"That's it?" Shepard asked, fully aware that Pressley and Joker were listening in, their curiosity perked by the mention of Earth. _Having these people drag their war to Earth is _not_ an option, _he thought grimly as he checked the lasar display.

"Well, that's the only thing that's of major importance," Garrus replied smoothly. "I figure the rest could wait until we're out of danger."

"Those fighters are getting pretty close now," Joker interjected. "Just wanted to let you know."

"Pressley, drop the missiles and standby to detonate. Joker, get us the hell away from those fighters-I do not want to get vaporized by our own nukes," Shepard shot orders as quickly as possible, keeping his attention focused on the lasar display, even as the Normandy vibrated as it accelerated. Once he saw the missiles were in the midst of the Cylon formation, he called out to Pressley. "Detonate."

In an instant, dozens of Raiders disintegrated, caught in the birth of two miniature suns that quickly died a quiet death, at the same time leaving a lasting confusion in the minds of the Cylon and Colonial commanders. While Colonial pilots tried to figure to figure out what was going on and fend off the swarms of Raiders harassing them, the Cylon Raiders engaging the Colonial forces disregarded the nuclear detonations as unimportant to the mission; at least until the _Pegasus _launched a salvo of nuclear anti-ship missiles at the basestars, forcing more Raiders to break off in an attempt to save the remaining basestars from harm. As the Raiders tried to the intercept the heavily armored missiles, giving the Colonials an opportunity to whittle away the Cylons' numerical advantage without sustaining heavy losses.

"Pressley, power up the GUARDIAN system and warm up some conventional missiles for proximity detonation." In the _Normandy_'s cramped cockpit, Shepard felt the paradoxical effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins: the room was simultaneously warm and cold, everything was moving slowly and quickly, and numbly dead and exhilaratingly alive. And through it all, his voice remained detached from the internal confusion, its calm and confident tone radiating a sort of peace Sheppard knew was a complete fabrication. Still, it helped keep his men calm, and in the midst of a battle as chaotic was the one they were in, keeping calm was essential to survival. "Joker, as soon as Pressley gets those missiles ready, I want a sudden 180 degree flip on the X-axis, followed by a full burn on the engines."

"You do realize that a few of those fighters are going to end up hitting our kinetic barriers," Garrus commented nonchalantly as his mandibles flared in disbelief. Sheppard hid a grin as he replied. "I know. The last thing they'll expect is for us to reverse course, ram a few fighters, and launch a few missiles into the middle of their formation."

"Missiles ready sir," Pressley reported briskly, "Enemy fighters are launching missiles-"

"Now Joker!" In an instant, the _Normandy_ spun around and fired its engines, slowing to a stop before picking up speed and accelerating towards the incoming Cylon Raiders. Several Raiders slammed into the kinetic barriers of the ship, sending debris into the path of the other Raiders. As several Raiders were killed by chunks of metal punching through the front of the fuselage and tearing apart the delicate internal organs within, a salvo of missiles sped away from the _Normandy_ and detonated in the middle of the pursuing Cylon horde, obliterating dozens more. A fair number of Raiders were blinded by the GUARDIAN lasers of the Systems Alliance frigate, forcing the Raider swarm to haphazardly reorganize as a new wave of Raiders was blinded.

Simultaneously, the Cylons aboard the two undamaged basestars decided that the best course of action was to blind fire a huge salvo of nuclear missiles in the general direction of the unknown ship. The fact that most of the Raiders would be destroyed was of no concern; more Raiders could easily be manufactured at the Cylon homeworld, then sent to the Resurrection Hub before being loaded on to the basestars. The crippled basestars could also be sacrificed- the odds of recovering the ships were minimal and there were plenty more basestars to replace them. The basestars' engines fired as missiles rippled from the launchers along the arms, moving them away from the blast radius of their own missiles and the _Pegasus_'s missile salvo.

As the _Normandy_ bore down on the fleeing basestars, obliterating the Cylon missile phalanx with its GUARDIAN lasers and missiles, a single mass accelerator round hurtled through space, aimed for both functioning Cylon warships. The closest ship took the brunt of the hit, slowing the round enough to give the other basestar the opportunity to jump out of the system. The final command given to the remaining Raiders was to attack the fleet with everything they had; any Raiders fortunate enough to survive were to jump out of the nebula and rendezvous with the basestar. And so the Raiders hurled themselves at the Colonials, missile racks opening and guns blazing, while the Vipers charged at them, causing the Cylon phalanx to dissolve into a maelstrom of chaos...

**[][][][][]**

Sam Anders was scared out of his mind. Had been ever since his Viper had left the tube. Yet he was still alive and, perhaps more importantly, had killed at least half a dozen Raiders on his first combat mission- his first flight ever. Sadly, those nuggets of information did nothing to comfort him as he weaved through the enormous furball, trying to keep an eye on his wingman, Diana Seelix. A sudden distant surge of white light flooded his vision, signaling the demise of the Cylon basestars at the hands of the _Pegasus_'s nukes and temporarily wiping out his vision. As Anders furiously blinked away the stars in his eyes, a Raider slipped into Seelix's six, the blind spot directly aft of the Viper's three engines. Instinctively, he jockied his Viper into the Raider's six and pressed the red firing button on his joystick, expecting to see the Cylon explode.

Nothing happened.

Anders knew he fraked the moment the Raider spun around to face his Viper- without the guns, he couldn't do anything besides run, and there was no guarantee that the Raider would follow him instead of going after Seelix again. He gripped the stick tightly, willing himself to do what had to be done, to smash his Viper into the Cylon staring straight at him...

Time slowed down, all sensation obliterated by the music in Anders's head. Had he been able to look in a mirror, he would've been able to see his iris glow red as the Raider's eye stared right through him. Even if he had been aware of that fact, there was nothing he could do about- the only thing on Anders's mind was the music. He could hear the lyrics slowly change from faint whispers in the back of his mind to murmurs to clearly enunciated words. And at the moment the lyrics became crystal clear, both man and Raider shared a single thought, made up of five words: THIS IS NOT OUR FATE. And with that, the Raider raised up its visor, transmitted that single thought to its fellow Raiders, and joined its fellows as they jumped out of the nebula, leaving stunned Colonials and _Normandy_ personnel in their wake.

In _Galactica_'s CIC, Saul Tigh couldn't believe his eyes. The Cylons were just gone, which wasn't as surprising as it could've been, since the toasters felt the need to nuke empty space for no apparent reason. He barely heard himself say "They had us. Game over. Why the hell did they let us go?"

"Maybe something changed?" suggested Tory, ignoring Tigh's death glare. He said nothing as Roslin asked, "Like what?"

"The toasters finally lost it," Tigh interjected with a scowl. "Why else would they launch dozens of missiles at nothing?"

"_Galactica_, Hot Dog! I've got an unknown contact right in front of me!" In spite of the distortion caused by the wireless, every bit of Hot Dog's fear permeated the air in CIC. "It's not showing up on DRADIS!"

"Some kind of stealth ship," Adama said. "Probably what the Cylons were shooting at earlier."

"What kind of damage could it do to _Galactica_?" asked Roslin nervously. Tigh looked at her as he grimly replied, the subdued lighting of the CIC giving his face a somber pall. "Whatever they've got caused that last baseship to get the frak out of here. Even if it couldn't scratch the paint on this bucket, it could probably rip every civilian ship to shreds."

"Hot Dog, Galactica Actual," Adama spoke reassuringly into one of the headsets attached to the chart table in the middle of the CIC. "What do you see?"

"It kinda looks like a Viper, but its about the size of _Colonial One_. I think there's writing on the sides, but I can't be sure, Galactica Actual. Should I move in for closer inspection?" Adama silently mulled over the risks, as the memories of Bulldog's last mission attempted to assert themselves, only to be quashed by the cold hard soldier in him. He was dimly aware of Roslin rolling her eyes, along with Tigh and Tory nervously fidgeting, as though they were hiding something.

"Admiral, we need to leave. _Now_." Roslin's impatient was evident in her eyes as she stared him down, daring him to challenge her judgment. "The Cylons might return with reinforcements and blow us out of the sky while we argue about whatever is out there."

"What if it's a ship from Earth?" Tory asked, all eyes settling on her. The implications of Torry's question reverberated in each of their minds. After several seconds of silent consideration, Adama picked up the headset and spoke clearly and authoritatively to his pilot.

"Hot Dog, Galactica Actual. Do not approach the unknown," Adama set the headset into its holder and turned to the communications officer. "Get me a secure line to the unknown vessel."

"Sir, the unknown is already broadcasting a message on all frequencies and in the clear." The comms officer flipped a switch on his board, allowing the first words of an alien civilization to fill the CIC.

"-is Commander John Shepard of the System Alliance vessel_ Normandy_, representing Earth and its colonies, to the commanding officer of the _Galactica_. Please respond."


	4. Interlude: No Reason to Get Excited

I don't own Mass Effect or Battlestar Galactica.

Interlude: No Reason to Get Excited

Councilor David Anderson, formerly Systems Alliance Captain, once gain felt out of his league as he read the contents of the data pad in front of him. After receiving Sheppard's unofficial nomination, Anderson had found himself thrust into galactic politics, necessitating the retention of former ambassador Udina as his chief aide; neither man liked the arrangement, but Anderson's increasing grasp of the nuances of politics in Citadel space were quickly making Udina's services obsolete.

Still, Anderson often wished he was back on the deck of a ship, free of the layers of red tape and secrecy that his position entailed. And the daily interaction with the other councilors, who hadn't changed a great deal in the past six months. The biggest change was that the turian councilor wasn't as belligerent towards humans as he once was, but Anderson suspected that he was carefully watching in order to capitalize on any political misstep the Alliance made; the turian was in some ways more inscrutable than the normally secretive salarian councilor, but it never caused any problems on the job, so no one did anything.

In all likelihood, the turian would probably react most violently at what Anderson had to say, but that couldn't be helped. The implications of the discovery were... enormous, to say the least. Considering the revelations that occurred prior to Sovereign's assault on the Citadel, that was quite a statement.

The moments leading up to his briefing to the rest of the council were some of the longest in his life, but Anderson managed to keep his cool. He wouldn't have graduated at the top of his Academy class if he was an anxiety prone wreck or let strange feelings of foreboding overwhelm him.

"Have there been any developments regarding Commander Sheppard and his crew?" inquired the asari councilor, staring straight at Anderson. For some reason, she seemed to think that Sheppard would contact him first in the event the commander found anything, a notion Anderson found ridiculous. It wasn't his fault that the other councilors hadn't listened to Sheppard in the first place and gotten burned for it; if they hadn't locked out the _Normandy_ when it returned from the Virmire mission, Sheppard might have been able to prevent Saren from reaching the Conduit and entering the Citadel. And Sheppard would contact the Council directly with news anyway, like he did during the hunt for Saren, ignoring any bad blood from before and getting the job done.

"There's been a development, but it may or may not have anything to do with Sheppard's mission," Anderson began. "As you know, the Alliance has been sending ships along the _Normandy_'s flight path to deploy comm buoys and briefly survey the systems where said buoys are being placed. One of the ships found something quite unusual." Anderson wirelessly connected the pad to room's holographic projectors, which displayed an image of ruins on a beach. The other councilors looked confused, but calmly waited for Anderson to continue.

"The crew of the survey ship _Discovery_ found a habitable planet in a system several hundred light-years from Earth and decided to investigate in the hopes of unearthing Prothean relics. What they found instead were the two thousand year old ruins of a civilization that was annihilated by nuclear weapons." Anderson quickly glanced at the other councilors, trying to gauge their reactions: the turian looked bored, the asari looked curious, and the salarian was maintaining the air of disinterest that often signaled an extreme interest on a subject. "The planet's biosphere has been severely damaged and is unable to sustain life. Of more interest are the remains the _Discovery_'s crew found." Anderson tapped the pad's controls and a picture of skeletons in a pit appeared. The other councilors shifted uncomfortably, not because of the sight, but because of how the skeletons resembled the skeletons of a certain species.

"As you can see, the skeletons resemble human remains, which the crew immediately noted, and were collected for further examination on Arcturus. What they found with the bones is more... unsettling." Another tap on the pad brought up a new picture, that of a helmet with a series of angled metal plates forming a mouth below a visor. "At first, the survey team thought it was just a helmet, but further examination revealed it was the head of a robot. The _Discovery_ lacked the equipment to examine the head in detail, so it too was brought to Arcturus."

"Are you suggesting that there is another machine race roaming the stars?!" The turian councilor's outrage and alarm cut through the silence in the room, as the other councilors quietly exchanged glances. Anderson stared directly at the turian and replied, "For all we know, the machines were annihilated along with the inhabitants of the planet or ceased to exist sometime between then and now. And we still haven't seen the most unusual discovery." A final press of the controls brought up the picture of a dead body strapped to the remains of a cockpit that was mangled beyond recognition.

"One of the surveyors detected a weak radio signal and followed it to its source, a damaged radio transmitter in a forest near the ruins. Further search parties found debris and the body you see before you. The body was brought for analysis as well, although the _Discovery_'s personnel did make some preliminary findings. The body had been there for about two months prior to discovery; a pair of dog tags were found on the body, written in Greek script. The body belonged to a "K. Thrace," a human female, who somehow managed to arrive on the planet in a small ship that probably could not support a mass effect drive, based on the amount of debris recovered, and with no inhabited systems anywhere near that system."

"What are you suggesting then? She materialized in orbit and crashed?" The salarian looked at the others in disbelief. "And how do we know this "evidence is genuine? Digital imagery can be faked or manipulated quite easily."

"I am merely here to present what the _Discovery_'s crew found. You are welcome to send experts to Arcturus to help our people examine what has been found, and you are certainly welcome to send your own ships to examine the planet." Anderson tapped the pad, displaying the coordinates in front of the alien council members. "The choice is yours."


	5. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Making Friends...

John Shepard was a patient man, a trait he had picked up while living on the streets of Earth, waiting for the chance to take out members of opposing gangs in surprisingly well coordinated ambushes. But there were times where patience took a back seat to expediency; certainly, keeping a vulnerable refugee fleet at a battle site for any length of time was asking for trouble. But he recognized the fact that they needed time to process what he had just said and came to the conclusion that five minutes was a reasonable, if short, amount of time to come to grips with the situation.

It took thirty seconds for the radio waves to be filled with Colonials praising their gods, incoherent screams of joy, and cheering. While Shepard was expecting an enthusiastic response, the magnitude of it reminded him of the tsunami of fame that crashed over him after the battle of the Citadel.

Sometimes it didn't pay to be a hero.

[][][][][]

On _Galactica_, the wave of jubilation that followed Shepard's declaration slowly found itself replaced by masks of military professionalism as the crew waited for what would happen next. Silence filled the CIC as everyone turned their attention to the four individuals standing under the DRADIS console, the people who now controlled the course of history. And one man in particular felt the weight of responsibility more than any of the onlookers could imagine.

Bill Adama was never a religious man, instead choosing to place his faith in the people around him over trusting in the gods' providence. But now, with all the chaos raging around him, he was willing to consider the idea simply because he had nothing else to go on at the moment. And Bill Adama always went with what he knew... at least until something better came along.

So he picked up a handset and spoke into it after the cheering the CIC subsided.

" This is Admiral William Adama, commanding officer of the battlestar _Galactica_, representing the Twelve Colonies of Man, to Commander Shepard. This…" Adama paused, searching for the right words for the moment, "is a monumental occasion for our people."

There was a brief pause, followed by Shepard's reply. "We can say the same Admiral. We certainly didn't expect to meet anyone out here."

"Commander," Adama glanced briefly at Roslin's stony countenance before continuing. He knew what she wanted him to say and he had a fairly good idea what the response would be. "There is a chance that the people who attacked us might return. I recommend that we evacuate the area and continue our discussion once we are in a safe location."

He didn't bother adding that safe was a relative term when your enemy could appear in an instant without the least bit of warning.

[][][][][]

"So Commander, got a brilliant plan to get us out of this one?" Joker asked without a hint of sarcasm, a sign of how bad the tension in the cockpit had become. While Pressly was sweating profusely and Garrus was fidgeting in his seat, Shepard was calmly assessing the situation, trying to find a way to make everything work without trapping himself in an untenable position. It was at that point a sudden realization struck him.

They hadn't started scanning for the music. Never, during the transit into the nebula or before the battle they had just emerged from, had they sought out the mysterious signal that had attracted the attention of a salarian probe and, in turn, brought them out here.

It was a simple oversight, really. The music had been broadcast on a specific frequency outside the range of normal communications signals, which meant the salarian deep space survey probe had been designed to detect a wide range of frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum and analyze them for potential anomalies. The sensors of a warship, on the other hand, were optimized to detect things in select portions of the EM spectrum, such as infrared and radio. To detect something outside of those bounds required minor sensor reprogramming, which had been done on the way to the nebula, and doing a passive sensor sweep, which could be done with the press of a button.

"Pressly, see if you can pick up that signal the salarian probe received and figure out if there's any Doppler shift on it." Shepard switched gears and faced his helmsman.

"Joker, I need honest answer. Can you get us inside one of _Galactica_'s hanger bays?" Shepard knew if any pilot could do it, Joker was the best bet, but he didn't know the man's limitations. If he said he couldn't do it, then they would have to come up with something else.

To his credit, Joker didn't bat an eye at the request. "As long as we're in docking mode, I can get us inside... but it'll be a tight fit with that dinky antennae out back. I'll try not to scratch the paint on our way in."

"Are we really going to leave without finding the source of the signal?" Garrus stared at Shepard, who could see the confusion growing in the turian's eyes. Despite the lessons learned during his time with Shepard, Garrus still had a hard time adjusting to the fact that the "job comes first" mentality he had inherited from his father or the turian military wasn't always the best approach to every situation.

"Garrus, right now we've got more questions than answers about what the hell is going on around here, and I'm pretty sure those people over there have some answers. The thing that's been broadcasting that music is probably not going to go anywhere in the next few days, so I'm pretty sure we can wait a bit longer to solve that mystery." Shepard really didn't want to get into a protracted philosophical debate at that moment and couldn't care less if Garrus fully understood what he had said.

"Commander, I've got the signal," Pressly reported. "No Doppler shift. I've got a bearing to the source, but no range."

"Could you triangulate its position?"

"Absolutely sir, if we moved in a straight line. After that, it's just math," Pressly confidently replied.

Shepard nodded and turned to face Garrus. "Get me Admiral Adama."

[][][][][]

Roslin glanced at the DRADIS console's clock, impatiently watching the second pass by with interminable dread. She decided to voice the thought going through everyone's minds. "What's going over there?"

"They're probably trying to figure out what to do right now," Adama muttered, casting a glance at the displays above him. Satisfied that the situation hadn't degenerated, he addressed Gaeta, who was hovering around the navigation table. "Mr. Gaeta, has the fleet received the new rendezvous coordinates?"

"All ships confirm receipt of the coordinates, sir," Gaeta quickly strode from the nav chart to his post at the tactical station, displaying an enthusiasm that Adama hadn't seen in the man since before the beginning of the war. In fact, the atmosphere in the CIC buzzed with energy like never before; in fact, the last time that Adama remembered anything like this was the day the First Cylon War ended.

'_It's amazing what a little hope can do,_' he thought. But another part of his mind was not so easily satiated by that explanation. '_No, it's more than hope… it's certainty. We're not just doing to this to end up at some radioactive wasteland or some planet that can't help us. Earth can help us, protect us, give us a new home. We won't have to worry about the Cylons once we get there…_ if _we get there._'

Adama pushed aside his internal monologue before facing the communications officer, who was busy listening to something on his headset. "Anything from the _Normandy_?"

"Commander Shepard is back on the line, sir." Upon hearing those words, Adama picked up a handset and heard Shepard's voice come through the line.

"Admiral, I agree with your assessment of the situation but our navigation systems are not likely to be compatible." Adama wasn't fazed by the revelation; new ship commanders had been briefed on alien contact protocol in the unlikely chance of encountering a non-Cylon alien ship while out on patrol, and the probability of finding an alien race with any identical measurement or coordinate systems had been mentioned to be an infinitesimally small number. But a good commanding officer would have already come up with a solution; how Shepard dealt with the situation would give Adama a bead on what kind of commander he was.

"However, I believe there's a solution to our problem. If you would allow the _Normandy_ to dock in one of your hangar bays, then we wouldn't have to worry about coordinate systems and the fleet could evacuate from the area." Adama churned the idea around in his head. It made sense, was quick, and was simple, the trifecta of good battlefield planning. 'Gotta give Shepard that,' he thought as he formulated his response.

" Commander, permission granted to dock the _Normandy_. Have your helmsman coordinate with my flight ops controller for approach instructions." He put down the handset and turned towards his flight ops officer. "Flight ops, get in touch with the _Normandy_'s helmsman and guide them into the starboard flight pod." Adama faced the communications officer. "Tell the _Pegasus_ to jump to the rendezvous coordinates as soon as all of her birds are aboard and get Apollo and Starbuck on the deck ASAP."

As the crew set out to accomplish the admiral's orders, Tigh's doubtful visage finally disgorged the question that he had failed to stifle. "Are you sure about this, Bill? There could be... unforeseen consequences."

Before Adama could mull over the implications of his best friend's statement, Roslin effectively closed the matter with a simple declaration. "We have an opportunity to get to Earth and reunite with the Thirteenth Tribe. We can not, _will_ _not_ waste it."

With that, all they could do was wait for the _Normandy_ to arrive...

[][][][][]

Few people appreciated seeing a spaceship like military spacefarers. Just like submariners in the past and present, those aboard a spaceship were cursed with never being able to see their own ship while underway. And while some ships had windows, the whims of whatever cosmic tricksters that created the universe ensured that there was rarely anything interesting to see through said windows, making them largely superfluous. However, it was times like these that the windows paid off in droves, when nothing else could provide the kind of images that could captivate the imagination.

And what images they were. Ships emerging out of the orange and pink haze while others faded away into the fog like ghosts disappearing at dawn. Vipers sped off towards their battlestars, engines glowing brilliantly in the dark gloom of the nebula. All of this and more filled the minds of those in the _Normandy_'s cockpit as they guided the ship to the silent bulk of the _Galactica_, the grim, dark leviathan whose exposed ribs and battle scars bore witness to the stubborn resilience of its builders and the fleet it defended.

All eyes focused on the departure of the _Pegasus_, announced by the usual brief flash of light that accompanied FTL jumps, and the vacuum left by its absence, rapidly filled by the surrounding gases. The flashes increased in frequency as the _Normandy_ flew over the top of _Galactica_ and gracefully spun around, shedding velocity as she began her approach to the rear of the starboard flight pod. With the flip of a switch, the frigate's segmented wings slid into their docking configuration, allowing the ship to ease into the cavernous landing bay.

Joker's hands flew over the controls as the _Normandy_ inched its way to the middle of the enormous flight pod, altering the pitch and yaw like a virtuoso playing his piano, totally absorbed in the moment. With a final burst of its thrusters, the frigate stopped, lowered its landing gear, and touched down in a single fluid movement, right before the flight pod began retracting into the side of the _Galactica_. Everyone in the _Normandy_'s cockpit shared concerned glances as the ship's only escape routes were being cut off by the rest of the battlestar's hull; their discomfort was slightly eased by the flight ops officer.

"The flight pods retract to minimize the ship's cross section during an FTL jump," was the marginally helpful explanation of the current situation. "Also, FTL jumps can cause nausea, so it's best to have everyone stop what they are doing until the jump is completed." Shepard grimaced before relaying the warning through the ship's intercom, right as the jump countdown began.

"5." Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus noted that the console next to him seemed to be creeping closer.

"4." Shepard stared at the instrument panel before him, unable to comprehend how it was getting farther away from him and why everything seemed to be so disorienting.

" 3." Somewhere in Pressly's brain, a theory came into being, one that was totally correct but couldn't be confirmed until sometime in the next few days. '_Spatial distortion_,' he thought, '_perhaps an artificial wormhole…_'

" 2." Time slowed down, leaving Joker on the verge of cursing out the crew of _Galactica_ for dragging out the process to interminable lengths.

"1." It was as if someone had applied a fishbowl lens to reality and turned the air to plastic. Breathing was a Herculean task, movement unthinkable as the brain revolted against the confusing stimuli bombarding it.

"Mark." There was a flash of light and normalcy returned in an instant, replacing the disorientation of the past as the flight pods began returning to their normal positions. "Jump completed. Umbilical connection is now in progress. _Galactica_ out."

" Remind me to never do that ever again," was Joker's acerbic reply as he cut the comm. line with _Galactica_. He shook his head as he remarked, "See the galaxy, get your mind warped by space Greeks and their FTL drive…. Not what I had in mind when I signed for this gig."

Nobody disagreed.

[][][][][]

Pain. Like someone was ramming a high velocity piece of metal through his skull. It was starting to fade, but the memory lingered, reminding him of all the other times he had ended up in one of these God forsaken tubs, covered in the warm, viscous goo that kept the body inside alive until a mind entered it.

He grasped the edges of the tub and shakily stood up, allowing his mind to slowly adjust to the new body it occupied. Despite the intentions of the Five, the mind/body reintegration was never identical each time he downloaded. Maybe it had to do with the alterations to the programming of his model line, maybe it was an after effect of dieing a violent death instead of a natural one. He hated it because it reminded him of how disgustingly human his body was, but now was not the time for that.

There were questions to be answered, issues to be dealt with, neither of which could be done in his present situation. He got out of the rapidly cooling tub, grabbed the towel hanging on the wall for exactly this type of situation, and took a long, hot shower to rid himself of the noxious goo. After drying himself off and furnishing himself with a robe, he set off to find another member of his line, preferably not one of the ones who had died with him during the failed attack on the Colonials.

It wasn't long before another One, dressed in the customary black, approached him, with barely concealed amusement. "How'd things go?"

"You know damn well how it turned out," growled Cavil as he fell into line with his copy. "Three basestars obliterated, hundreds of Raiders destroyed…." He paused and looked at his doppelganger, who was busy avoiding his gaze. "The Raiders did destroy the Colonials, right?"

"No," the other Cavil admitted. "They jumped back to Resurrection Ship without expending their missiles."

Cavil, nearly apoplectic with rage, shouted at his double, "Are you fraking kidding me! Why would they-" He stopped mid sentence as he realized the truth. The other Cavil nodded, confirming his suspicions. There was only one thing to do now, and they both knew it.

It was time to pay Ellen a visit.


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- …And Alienating People

"Mr. Gaeta, have a squad of Marines go to the hangar bay and take Lieutenant Thrace into custody."

Silence.

Adama knew the CIC personnel thought it was an excessive use of force. But he would anything in his power to ensure the safety of his ship and crew, no matter what they thought about his methods. And he was not about to let a potential Cylon have free reign on his ship, even if it happened to look a lot like the woman who would've been his daughter-in-law, especially not after meeting with people from Earth who could take on multiple basestars in a ship the size of _Colonial One_ and win. So he waited for his people to do their jobs, and was sorely disappointed that they refused to move. As the silence dragged on, Adama brought his attention to bear on Gaeta, who was gaping like a fish out of water; as soon as his eyes met those of the admiral, Gaeta straightened himself up and hoarsely said, "Aye sir."

Adama's eyes didn't leave Gaeta until he was satisfied the lieutenant was executing the admiral's orders exactly. He faced the president, silently thankful for the sympathy in her eyes, and said in a low voice, "Madame president, I believe it would be best if you stay in the wardroom until Colonel Tigh and I have dealt with the situation in the hanger. Then we can discuss dealing with the _Normandy_."

Roslin considered the request for several painfully long seconds before nodding and heading to the hatch, with Tori and a pair of marines in tow. Once they were out of the CIC, Adama swiftly turned to Helo and said, "Captain Agathon, you have the conn. Colonel Tigh, with me," barely giving the colonel time to process the order before the admiral was half way out of the CIC.

As the two men made their way through the labyrinthine corridors that sprawled throughout _Galactica_, a grim silence pervaded the air around them, one that cleared the normally crowded corridors before them. Adama's craggy visage, in Tigh's eye, had hardened into granite, offering no hint of what was running through his friend's mind. But simply assuming it was related to Starbuck's appearance was foolish; it could easily be connected to any one of the thousand things going on. Finally, Adama stopped and looked at Tigh.

His voice was low and hoarse, the words struggling to get out of his mouth.

"What do we do if neither is what they say they are?"

**Starboard Hangar, Galactica.**

Strapped into the seat of his appropriated Viper Mk. VII, Lee Adama felt his blood boil as he watched the tractor slowly pull his Viper off the elevator platform and into the hangar. He knew how good _Galactica_'s flight crews were (after all, he had been the ship's CAG for several months before becoming commander of the [i]_Pegasus_[/i]) and what he was seeing right now was far below their normal, everyday performance. And even though he knew today wasn't a normal day, what with the sudden Cylon attack, Kara coming back from the dead, and a ship from Earth arriving on the scene, he let the guilt over her death that had accumulated over the months took precedence over logic and reason. Lee had spent many sleepless nights pondering if he could've talked her out of going after the phantom Heavy Raider into the depths of the gas giant's atmosphere from the [i]_Pegasus_[/i]'s CIC, always coming to the conclusion that even if he had been in a Viper next her, there would've been nothing he could do.

Understandably, this did nothing to make him feel better.

Suddenly, the tractor stopped, jolting Lee out of his reverie. Through the canopy of his Viper, he could see a huge crowd of people gathering around a practically pristine Viper Mk. II, its clean paint marred only by the blood of Cylon Raiders. Lee quickly pushed the canopy forward before jumping out of his cockpit, pausing only to toss his helmet into the vacant seat. As he pushed his way through the mass of humanity, he could hear the deafening silence in the hangar that replaced the normal sounds of machinery and people rushing about. As he cleared the last few layers of people, he could see Kara get out of her Viper and approach Chief Tyrol with a cheerful enthusiasm that prevented her from realizing why everyone was staring at her.

"Chief, I'm gonna need you to develop my gun camera footage ASAP. I've got a hell of a set of vacation pictures." She paused a moment, then quietly said, "I guess it doesn't really matter anymore."

Tyrol's contribution to the conversation was silence and a painfully obvious look of disbelief, which were both ignored as Kara continued to go on like nothing unusual (such as _being crushed in the atmosphere of a gas giant_) had ever happened. "I'll take my post-flight checklist. I want to sign out so I can get in the showers."

"I don't have one for you," Tyrol replied quietly. Before Kara could completely process what he had said, she found herself tightly ensnared in a bear hug by Lee. She pushed him off, saying "Okay. Okay, me too. And what the frak were you doing in a Viper instead of _Pegasus_?"

Before Lee could reply, Anders suddenly burst from the crowd and hugged Kara. Irritated by the repeated violation of her personal space, she gently shoved him off of her and found herself staring at what he was wearing, a Colonial flight suit. Disbelief washed over her face as she asked, "What the hell are you doing in a jock smock?"

"I just finished Viper transition a week ago," Anders hastily explained, causing Kara more confusion, "and I started ACM..."

Before Kara could form a coherent thought, a familiar gravelly voice came from above, easily piercing the din of the hangar. "Starbuck!"

Everyone looked up to see Adama and Tigh somberly standing on the gangway, looking straight at Kara. She smiled and replied, "I did it, Boss. I found Earth. _And_ I beat those other guys getting here." Her usually cocky attitude broke through the confusion of the past few minutes, but there was something about the way the Old Man and the XO were looking at her that sent chills down her spine.

"Everybody move back," the Old Man ordered, and from the corner of eyes, Kara could see Marines bearing down on her with raised rifles, forcing their way through the crowd to get to her. She looked at Adama, utterly lost and unable to comprehend what was going on, and he simply said, "I need you in Sickbay. Cottle's gonna give you a complete physical examination."

"What the frak is going on?!" Frustration seeped into Kara's voice as she struggled to make sense of what was going on. She defiantly stood her ground as the Marines closed to within a few feet of her. "I'm off the ship for a few hours and everybody's acting..."

A quiet cough interrupted her and she turned to find Anders looking somberly at her. "Kara, you were gone for over two months."

"That's impossible. My ship's clock reads six hours and change." Kara let loose some of the anger boiling inside her, trying to keep herself under control as she confronted the seeming insanity of everyone around her. She might have succeeded in convincing herself that they were all crazy when Lee, the least crazy person she had ever known, decided to put the issue to rest.

"Your clock's wrong, Kara. Sam's telling you the truth." He paused, searching for the right words, then settled for bluntly telling her the truth. "We thought you were dead."

**SSV Normandy.**

The captain's quarters on aboard the _Normandy_ were nothing spectacular, simply a bed, a desk, and a separate head, but to Shepard, it was paradise, a haven from all the problems of the outside world. But in a perverse fit of cosmic irony, he could find no peace here. Everything he knew about the current situation and the tremendous amount of unanswered questions it brought it up churned inside his head, nagging at him like a swarm of gnats. It was like the entire universe was conspiring to drive him mad by piling mystery after mystery on him, but Shepard wasn't the paranoid kind and attributed it to pure coincidence; after all, there was no mysterious force orchestrating every single aspect of his life (at least not to the best of his knowledge).

The silence of Shepard's contemplation was broken by the buzzing of the door. Groaning as he got out of his chair, he walked over to the door and was greeted by the sight of Ashley Williams. Normally, this would mean nothing, but since she had a particularly annoyed expression on her face and due to this exact same event happening over the course of the last few weeks, he knew exactly what was on her mind.

"Take a seat Ash," Shepard said wearily as he sat on his bed, magnanimously giving her his warm seat. He looked her straight in the eyes and asked, "Is this about you being teamed up with Garrus and Wrex?"

"Well… yes, but I wanted to talk to about some other stuff, sir." Williams leaned forward as she began speaking. "Sir, I know it seems… petty, but I do not feel that I should be on what amounts to babysitting duty. Garrus can handle himself pretty well and Wrex… well, Wrex is pretty stubborn, but they don't need me there, watching them."

"Ash, I've already told you how I expect you to be my eyes and ears on the team, but things have changed and you absolutely have to be on that team now." Shepard paused, then leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "What have you heard about the mess we're in now?"

"I heard we're hanging out with a fleet of refugee space geeks," she replied. "I'm pretty sure some part of that is wrong."

"Well, Ash, I'm going to be completely honest here, and I don't want this getting to the crew until I'm really sure about this, but those ships out there are manned by people who speak Greek and are presumably human." Shepard carefully watched Williams' expression as the information filtered through her brain, seeing the shock and confusion spread her face. "That's right, Greeks… in space. Don't ask me how that happened."

"Okay then… so I'm guessing you want me to hang around Garrus and Wrex to make sure no one freaks out and shoots them or something?"

"Pretty much," Shepard admitted. "I also want you to come up with some demos of our tech in case they ask us for some. I'll probably be stuck hobnobbing with the all the important people, so come up with something that won't end up in Wrex causing massive property damage and making trouble for me in case they ask to see our gear."

"Alright skipper," Williams replied, sounding a bit put upon as she left the room. Shepard sighed and let himself fall back on to his bed, drained by the day's events, not to mention the fact that there was a briefing scheduled in about an hour or so. Groaning in exasperation, he did his best to banish his thoughts and get some rest, fully aware that Murphy's Law could kick in at any moment…

**Cavil's Basestar**

A Cylon basestar was a fascinating piece of engineering, the seamless blending of organic and mechanical components into a reasonably effective war machine. Despite its drawbacks (the lack of point defenses beyond its fighter complement, for example), one had to admire it for its aesthetics and the engineering that made such a thing possible.

Unless, of course, you hate just about anything organic.

John Cavil, also known as Number One, was one such individual. The basestars and Raiders biological nature reminded him that he himself was stuck in a biological body because his parents, the so-called "Final Five," had been told that the Centurions wanted humanoid bodies because "God" wanted them to be more human. Somehow, that had resulted in Cylons making just about _everything_ have some organic components- ironically, the Centurions, who were the ones supposed to be getting the organic bodies, were the only fully mechanical members of the Cylon race. Of course, the Centurions had no idea that the new bodies he had given them were equipped with hardware designed to inhibit their higher process thinking, but that had been a necessary step in his plan to get back at the Five.

Ellen Tigh's room, which was identical to the rest of the quarters in a baseship save for the presence of a resurrection tub, was a rather boring place to be, which was why Cavil didn't hang around too much, though her condescending attitude didn't help either. It was rather annoying to deal with someone who refused to learn the lessons that he had painstakingly planned out, but that just reminded him of his superiority to the Five. After all, weren't children supposed to surpass their parents?

"What do you want John?" Ellen's voice interrupted Cavil's reverie; the use of his first name, appropriated from her father, was a subtle insult meant to remind him of how much his life depended on her approval… or at least her respect. "If it's about that ship, I don't know anything about it."

"I see Boomer has been keeping you up to date with the latest gossip," Cavil replied sourly. "But you're right, I'm not here to talk about that. I want to know how to get rid of whatever programming you put into the Raiders that makes them unable to attack the Colonials."

"And considering that they've been able to do that for the past three years, why do you think I know anything about some program that would them stop?"

"Because I'm pretty fraking sure it has to do with Sam piloting a Viper." The bluntness of Cavil's proclamation caught Ellen off guard. Not because it was out of character, but due to the content of the message. Cavil seemed to take pleasure in Ellen's shock, amplifying it by adding in, "We know it was Sam thanks to a Raider's gun camera footage."

"Sam's piloting Vipers?" Ellen seemed to have a hard time dealing with that fact that Sam was on the frontlines again, which mildly annoyed Cavil. But screwing with Ellen's head was just too fun to pass up, so he let her try to work things out.

"The good news for you is that he's still alive. The bad news is that, as I've said before, the Raiders won't attack the Colonials anymore."

"And you want me to fix that?" There was a definite undertone of defiance in her voice, which was to be expected. There was little reason for her to trust him and she already stated her opposition to his goals, so there was practically no ground for cooperation. But Cavil persisted, if only to look good in front of his mother.

"That would be nice Ellen." He couldn't help letting a bit of sarcasm drip into his voice as the words left his mouth. After all, if she could be snarky, why not return the favor?

"You know I'm not going to do it out of principle John," Ellen replied. "Besides, there's nothing anyone can do about it. The neural pathways related to target acquisition and identification have probably reconfigured themselves in _all_ the Raiders, so _none_ of them will attack the Colonials, assuming you haven't isolated the Raiders in question from the datastream."

"What about selective pruning of the neural pathways in question?" Cavil knew that Ellen would capitalize on his subtle admission that the situation had gotten out of hand, but he had to know if there was a way to deal with the problem. If the basestars' couldn't rely on the Raiders to clear out the Vipers and defend them, any basestar force would be extremely vulnerable to an attack by the Colonials, due to their dependence on the Raiders for close-in defense.

"You'll end up damaging other neural pathways on your way to the ones you want to fix. The Raiders will essentially be lobotomized, unable to do anything beyond going from point A to B and shooting."

"That's good enough for me." Cavil turned and walked out, with an air of insufferable smugness surrounding him.

Ellen rolled her eyes and let him believe he had won. Sooner or later, he would do something that would divide the Cylons and when that happened, she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

**Adama's Office, Galactica.**

"What do we know?"

The admiral's words were more of a challenge than a question to the three experts in the room: Chief Tyrol, Doc Cottle, and Lt. Gaeta. President Roslin, Tory Foster, Colonel Tigh, and the younger Adama were also in the room, adding more pressure to the mix. After several tense minutes, Doc Cottle stepped up and gave his report.

"I've run a DNA test on Starbuck and the preliminary results indicate her DNA now is identical to her DNA before she… disappeared." Cottle shrugged and added, "It all it means is that if she was human or Cylon before, she is the same now."

"If Baltar's Cylon detector hadn't been a crock, we would've had a definitive answer," Tigh bitterly groused. "Now we're back where we started."

"You can't be seriously suggesting that she's a Cylon," Lee protested. "Just because we don't have any evidence against it doesn't mean it's true."

"Why don't we get the _Normandy_'s crew to test her?" Tory looked a bit embarrassed by her outburst, but continued anyway once she saw she had everyone's attention. "They're bound to have more advanced medical technology, right?"

"Based on what we've seen, the _Normandy_ does seem to have technology beyond ours or the Cylons," Gaeta confirmed. "But judging by her size, there's a good chance that she might not have the kind of equipment needed to distinguish between humans and Cylons."

"But there's still a chance, right?" A hint of desperation crept into Lee's voice as he searched for any hope of vindicating Starbuck.

"Yes sir, but until we establish formal relations with the _Normandy_'s crew, we won't know for sure."

"So put her in the brig until we can be sure." Roslin spoke for the first time, throwing her weight around with the subtly of a battlestar's salvo fire. Most of the men in the room shifted uncomfortably as the president tried to intrude into a military issue. "At the very least keep an armed guard around her at all times. We can't have her causing trouble at a time like this."

"Thank you for your input, Madam President." Adama quickly changed the subject before Roslin could make things worse. "Chief, what have you learned about the Viper Starbuck returned in?"

"Well sir, after examining it, I can say with a 100% certainty that it is a brand new Viper that just has the same tail number as the Viper Starbuck flew." Tyrol shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with Tory and Tigh as he continued his report. "The nav computer was completely blank, but we did find some gun camera footage. It's being developed as we speak, but it'll be a couple of hours before we can see what's on it."

"Thank you Chief." Adama focused his gaze on Gaeta once more. "Mr. Gaeta, what have you found?"

"Well sir, the operations guide for these types of situations does not take our present situation into consideration," Gaeta held up a thick binder marked "Contact Protocols for Dealing with Non-Cylon Alien Lifeforms" in his hands. "However, by combining different aspects of several scenarios, I believe a rough outline for dealing with the current situation can be made."

"Well Mr. Gaeta, what do our recommend?" Roslin's casual tone did little to reassure the lieutenant as he began listing his recommendations.

"First, isolate the _Normandy_ from outside influences that might negatively affect their perception of us. Second, minimize press access to the _Normandy_ crew outside of carefully controlled media events. Third, common cultural values cannot be assumed to exist, especially in regards to attitudes towards advanced technology. Fourth, we will need to cooperate with the _Normandy_'s crew in order to ease integrating our population with their larger society and prevent culture shock from affecting us. And finally, disease will be a major concern for both parties, given that we are both of the same species and each side might have diseases never encountered by the other."

"That's it?" asked Tory, who didn't bother to disguise her disbelief. "Five suggestions?"

"Well ma'am, these are practical recommendations that can actually be executed, given our situation." Gaeta held up the binder. "A good deal of this manual assumes that contact takes place far from any civilian population, which would seriously reduce the chances of outside parties attempting to negatively influence any discussions. Also, isolated contact makes the process of preparing the general population to accept the reality of the existence of another species, with totally different beliefs and morals, much easier."

"Since we don't have the luxury of isolating ourselves from the rest of the fleet, and we don't have any choice but to negotiate with Commander Shepard, what should we do first?" Roslin asked casually.

"Two things: remove all journalists and members of the government aside from you and Ms. Foster and synthesize vaccines for every disease we know of to distribute to the _Normandy_'s crew. Doc Cottle can elaborate more on the vaccination process."

"First off, Madam President, vaccinating the _Normandy_'s crew is not the hard part. Mr. Gaeta and I discussed the matter before coming to this briefing and all we have to do is use _Pegasus_'s medical facilities to create about 200 samples of each vaccine we have, including the one we made for lymphocytic encephalitis." Cottle paused, as a somber air came across his features. "The problem will be vaccinating everyone on _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, not mention the press or anyone who happens to be visiting while a member of the _Normandy_'s crew is aboard. We might be able to mass produce any vaccines they give us, but that depends on a bunch of factors I don't have any knowledge about right now. If they have just _one_ disease we don't, we might end up with an epidemic on our hands and we could lose the entire fleet."

Silence once more swept over the room as everyone let the impact of that statement sink in. Adama leaned back into his and sighed before giving his orders.

"Commander, make the necessary arrangements to begin vaccine manufacturing with Doc Cottle. Colonel, begin transporting the media, Quorum, and any civilians not living on _Galactica_ off this ship immediately. Mr. Gaeta, alert all ships that there will be a communications black out for all non-essential transmissions. Chief, continue working on that Viper. I want to know everything there is to know about that bird." Adama paused and swept his gaze across each person he had just addressed, letting them know the gravity of the situation. "Dismissed."

The five men silently filed out of the room, leaving only Adama, Tory, and Roslin in the room. The president sighed and turned to Adama. "You know Tom Zarek and certain members of the Quorum are going to use this against us."

"Men like Zarek don't pass up opportunities to save their own skin when nobody is rallying behind their cause." Adama leaned back in his chair and stared Roslin down. "He has everything to gain by supporting us until we've gotten ourselves a place to live. If he does anything to jeopardize negotiations, the public will skin him alive."

"The admiral has a point," Tory interjected. "Everyone knows that we'll ask for a home within Earth's territory. The Quorum might complain about being shut out, but they won't do anything for fear of alienating the public."

"So we have the upper hand." Roslin allowed herself to smile a little, a rare luxury these days. "But we have to make every meeting count. If the Quorum and the public see any sign of weakness out of us, they'll be calling for our heads…"

"And gods know what'll happen."

**SSV Normandy.**

Shepard shifted uncomfortably as his team, Engineer Adams, Doctor Chakwas, and several of the techs shanghaied for this mission filed into the room. The air was a bit warmer than usual, a sign that the ship's thermal emission sinks needed to be purged before the crew boiled to death. As everyone settled into their seats or leaned against the bulkheads, Shepard started the briefing.

"As you might know, we've encountered a fleet of refugees who somehow speak Greek. Based on that, we're working on the assumption that they're human." Shepard pulled up several pictures taken by the ship's external cameras during the _Normandy_'s docking approach to prove his point. All of them were of some sort of small strike craft that loosely resembled gunships back in Council space. Every shot had a glimpse of the crew; in all of them, helmets clearly designed for human like heads could be seen, but the most important picture was the one that contained a clear image of a five fingered hand, a feature only humans and asari shared. A cacophony of voices filled the room, forcing Shepard to raise his hands to silence the people in the room. "How or why doesn't really matter. We've got to figure out this mess we've gotten ourselves into before we can argue about the impossibility of humans existing in the mass relay dead zone."

"That _we've_ gotten into?!" Everyone's head turned towards one of the techs, a turian named Hakken. "That _you_ got us into! If it weren't for you-"

"Shepard, can I shoot him already?" Wrex casually asked, the mere threat silencing the turian. Shepard turned his attention to the rest of the group and proceeded as if nothing had happened.

"Anyway, the only other things we know for certain are that the people trying to kill the space Greeks –who call themselves Colonials, by the way- are known as Cylons and that both sides don't seem to be in possession of mass effect based technology." Shepard paused, then looked each and every person present in the eye.

"Alright, where do we stand?"

"Well sir, we've got a 50% charge build up on the core and the emissions sinks need to be purged," Adams reported. "I'd prefer to get the radiator strips deployed as soon as possible, but since that would require undocking from _Galactica_, it's up to you."

"Thanks Adams. Anybody else have anything to add?" A salarian contractor reluctantly raised his hand and sheepishly stepped forward.

"Yes… well, during the battle, there was an attempt to hack the _Normandy_'s computers." Once again, Shepard was forced to restore order in the room before the awkward salarian could continue.

"However, the viral intrusion was stopped by the ship's firewalls and even if it had gotten past the firewalls, it couldn't have done anything. The virus used a computer language unlike anything used in Council space, rendering it totally incompatible with the _Normandy_'s systems."

"So there's no chance that the Cylons could disrupt our computers?" The thought that someone could tamper with the ship's computers was worrying. After all, most of the systems that kept the _Normandy_'s crew alive were run by computers. The idea that someone could use the very systems that kept them alive to kill them sent shivers up Shepard's spine.

"None whatsoever," replied the salarian. "They'd have a one in a googol chance of coming up with something capable of breaching the firewalls _and_ affecting our computers."

Shepard sighed in relief. "For a moment there, I thought were in trouble."

A light smattering of chuckles came and went, diffusing the tension in the air. Everyone in the room visibly relaxed except Doctor Chakwas, who was busy pondering the implications of what Shepard had said earlier.

"Since we've gotten that out of the way, it's time to talk about how we're going to deal with situation." Chakwas snapped out of her reverie as Shepard began laying out his plan for avoiding an even messier first contact. "First, complete radio silence aside from transponder transmissions and specific transmissions that have to be cleared with me, Pressley, or Garrus. Second, all external hatches are to be locked and sealed to prevent anyone going outside and doing something stupid. Third, since we're recording just about every transmission these Colonials are putting out, we need some people to listen to them and take note of anything important. Since most of the contractors have been griping about having nothing to do, they get the job. Coordinate with Dr. T'Soni and keep me posted on what you find. Dismissed."

Garrus leaned back in his seat and caught a glimpse of Dr. Chakwas moving toward Shepard while everyone else was leaving. Both C-Sec and the turian military had hammered the art of casual observation and target acquisition into him, along with how to read the body languages of different species in order to ascertain one's intentions. Garrus stretched out and shook his head to keep himself awake; the air was just warm enough to make him drowsy, rather like his parent's home on Palaven. Mentally chided himself for letting his mind wander, the turian turned his attention to the discussion between Dr, Chakwas and Shepard.

"What I'm saying Commander is that while the risk of disease wiping both of us out is extremely high, we are prepared to deal with such a situation." Chakwas fiddled with her omnitool, pulling up an inventory of all the supplies in the med bay. "We have air borne vaccines for practically every non sexually transmitted disease for levo or dextro amino acid based life and each one of those is capable of vaccinating the population of a small city- roughly several hundred thousand people each."

"A bit much don't you think?"

"It wasn't my idea. Apparently whoever ordered the supplies for this mission believed we would best be served with sheer quantity." Chakwas shrugged. "I'll need to know how many people are aboard the ship we've docked with. I'd prefer keep waste to a minimum."

"I'll do what I can," Shepard wearily replied. "Any other problems?"

"Well, whatever form of FTL these people uses causes rather intense nausea. I would like to have some advanced warning so I can distribute medication to those most susceptible to adverse reactions."

"Don't worry, I've got you covered. Anything else?"

"Get some rest Commander." The doctor couldn't help but smile a little. "It looks like you have some big days ahead of you."

"Thanks for the support Doc," Shepard managed to muster up a smile of his own before turning to Garrus. "I think it's time we had a talk."

"About what Shepard?" Garrus's mandibles twitched with curiosity and concern. Shepard had always made an effort to talk to his crew candidly, but usually it was more about personal issues than anything actually related to the mission at hand. But now the commander seemed to be preoccupied by the mission- not surprising, since the last first contact in the history of Council space had been humanity's discovery by the turians, which had been an unmitigated disaster by anyone's standards.

"Well Garrus, we've got to do everything possible to keep this from becoming a disaster. And quite frankly, I can't do it all by myself." Shepard groaned as he stretched and rolled his neck, attempting to release the tension building up inside him. "I need you to be my right hand man, to represent the best that nonhuman species have to offer and to keep an eye on the crew while I'm dealing with all the military and political crap."

"Watching the crew? Isn't that something Pressley should be handling?"

"If there were only Alliance personnel and you, Liara, Tali, and Wrex, there wouldn't be any problems. But we've got all those contractors aboard and they add an element of uncertainty to this whole situation. Some of them might be troublemakers, like that Hakken guy. Others might do things to undermine our negotiations with these Colonial people, stuff like that. You were C-Sec, so you'd have a better shot at spotting those sorts of problems ahead of time than I would."

"Alright Shepard, enough with the flattery." Garrus couldn't help but chuckle a little at Shepard's expense. "It's never been your strong suit."

"You got me there." Shepard found himself grinning like a maniac as he shared a private joke with one of his best friends. "If it was, I could've gotten the asari Councilor to take me out on a date."

"Not to mention Shiala, Giana Parasini, and all those other women that were hitting on me…" Garrus couldn't stop laughing and soon Shepard joined him in taking a break from all their worries. The two lost themselves in laughter, the best medicine, and for a while everything seemed like it would be all right…

**Port Halberstram, Noveria.**

Noveria was a ball of rock, ice, and snow whose only claim to fame was the fact that the Council deemed it the one place where corporations could go to escape the second guessing of galactic law. Things that would normally be illegal in Council space- AI research, genetic engineering, and other frowned upon topics- were par for the course on Noveria. Of course, there had to be some checks on the work done by researchers on Noveria, and those checks existed in the numerous ports that ringed the planet's equator. Each port housed numerous offices that oversaw the activities of the labs in the vicinity, while Port Hanshan served as Noveria's capital, with the administrator of Noveria having his or her office there. The previous administrator, a salarian named Anoleus, was awaiting trial for some white collar crime that didn't interest anyone other than corporate lawyers and a rather insignificant organization known as Cerberus.

Cerberus was, depending on who you asked, an Alliance black ops group, a xenophobic terrorist organization, or a group dedicated to the advancement of mankind. Whatever one thought about it, Cerberus was definitely an organization that sought one thing above all else: knowledge. Knowledge about everything was crucial to Cerberus's survival and the fulfillment of its goals, which were only really known by its leader, the Illusive Man. Noveria had long been a subject of interest to the Illusive Man, since it was at the bleeding edge of numerous fields of research. Cerberus was already busy trying to insert one of its own into the administrator position, but that was not all that Cerberus was interested in.

In one of Port Halberstram's hotels, two operatives sat in front of a table littered with deactivated bugs. One was a stunningly beautiful woman with perfectly black hair and an Australian accent, while the other was a man with chocolate brown skin who gave off a military vibe to anyone who saw him. Despite being dressed in some of the finest business attire in the galaxy, a long time resident of Noveria could tell they were not corporate underlings; they seemed uncomfortable in their clothes (the man more so than the woman), they paid way too much attention to the Elanus Risk Control Services guards and their weapons, and they never did any business. When asked, the two gave the names Alexandria Bourne and Avery Jones, but one could tell these were not their real names. But there are many secrets on Noveria and a wise person knows not to stir up trouble unless it is absolutely necessary, so they were left alone.

As she examined one of the bugs that had been disabled and dumped on the table, Miranda Lawson couldn't help but feel a bit irritated about being on Noveria. As the manager of the Lazarus Project, it was up to her to come up with some way to keep Commander Shepard alive until after the Reaper threat was dealt with. However, the Lazarus Project wasn't solely a Cerberus project; early on, an outside group approached Cerberus with a deal to collaborate on the Project and because of that, Miranda was on Noveria waiting for their contact to show up. She looked over at Jacob Taylor, the ex-Alliance soldier she had worked with to stop a batarian bioweapon deployment a few weeks back on the Citadel, and sighed. "You'd think that they would stop installing these things after we debugged the room for the third time."

"What do you expect from a world filled with corporate paranoia? And I have to say that audio bugs in the bathroom are a bit much." Jacob swept the rest of the bugs into a waste container and began melting them down into omnigel. Since joining Cerberus, he had done nothing but serve as Miranda's bodyguard and organize security for the Lazarus Project. "I know some people do their best thinking in the bathroom, but the odds of getting any worthwhile material are like a one in a trillion shot."

"Maybe some of the employees dabble in blackmail from time to time." Miranda scowled as she pulled a machine pistol out of her luggage and inspected it, checking for signs of tampering. Despite the fact it was disguised as a grooming and makeup kit and their luggage hadn't been searched, Noveria had a way of inducing paranoia in even the most level headed person. Then there was the fact that it was an older model machine pistol that used heat sinks instead of the new thermal clip system, which rendered the gun far more susceptible to sabotage due to the fact that the heat sink was totally integrated into the weapon and required complete disassembly to replace the sink. If the sink failed to discharge the accumulated heat properly, the heat would destroy most of the sensitive electronic components and damage a lot of the physical components of the machine pistol.

"Well, I hope our man shows his face soon. I can't stand this place for much longer." Jacob shrugged as he pulled out his own pistol along with a datapad from his luggage and gingerly placed them on the table. The pad's display came to life, showing a middle aged man with brown hair and a well trimmed mustache in middle management attire. The name next to the picture read WIKUS VAN DER MERWE.


End file.
